


Hold My Heart Until It Beats

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:43:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9565505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: AU. “I’ve got about two ounces of magic in me from my great grandmother’s cousin on my mother’s side,” Mark likes to say.Because he’s so magically inept, it’s only natural that he’s fallen in love with the most gifted magic user in the last century.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff!
> 
> This has been done for a while now. But I've been working on it on and off for the last couple of weeks doing minor tweaks and edits. Frankly, I'm tired of looking at it despite how cute it is. 
> 
> This fic came to me after I was talking to feistymuffin, and she was telling me about "Feast of Starlight" and Court Magician Mark (which if you haven't read that fic, please do, it's a complete gemstone of a work). I like Court Magician Jack too, but even more so nonmagic!Mark so I decided to merge the two! :) 
> 
> Basically I needed an excuse for some cute shit and Jack protecting Mark. Ye. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Mark has a pretty nice life.

Working as a gardener in the magical kingdom of Astora has its perks. The king and queen, the handsome King Felix and the beautiful Queen Marzia, are kind people with a strong sense of moral justice in their hearts. Though Astora is cold for three fourths of the year, the springtime provides him ample opportunity to work at his craft. 

During the winter, when nothing grows, he spends his time with the baker in the kitchen, cracking jokes with the old but wise Emily, who’d been friends with his mother. 

Mark himself is very magically untalented. Though Astora is renowned for its gifted magic users, he’s not been blessed with it. Sometimes he feels the tiny, tiny sparks of magic within him, but that’s only when he’s around plants, and it’s hardly anything worth noting.

“I’ve got about two ounces of magic in me from my great grandmother’s cousin on my mother’s side,” Mark likes to say. 

Because he’s so magically inept, it’s only natural that he’s fallen in love with the most gifted magic user in the last century. 

Sean William McLoughlin--son of the minstrels Juliana and Vince, who travel throughout the land, telling grand stories of dragons and monsters and powerful knights. There are four other children in that family, but for some reason, Sean’s power had glimmered through enough to catch King Felix’s eye, and Mark remembers that day quite well.

He had made the stars shine in the middle of the day, had made fire burn brighter than he ever had, called down rain from the heavens. 

When Felix asked him to join his court, Sean had laughed, and said, “Only if you call me Jack, your majesty.”

So he had. He’s been with them ever since. 

That had been three years ago. Jack has since become steadfast friends with the king and queen, and anyone he happens to cross the path of. 

Even more so with him.

It had started out with Jack’s mild curiosity in the strange gardener wandering the grounds in the dead of winter. Mark likes to take Chica, his helping dog, for walks through the snow, and he sometimes surveys the land to see if his winter plants had sprouted yet.

“You have plants that grow in the winter?” Jack had asked him.

Mark had laughed in response. “Of course. And I find that they’re the most beautiful, because they survive against all odds.”

In those coming days, Jack had begun to spend time with him, learning about the obscure plants that can grow in twenty below, and how they sometimes even flourish in such conditions. In turn, Jack told him stories of his home before his life on the road, a faraway land where things were green all the time and the rain never seemed to end.

“How did you end up here?” Jack asked him, sometime into their tentative friendship. “You’re not…”

Mark remembers his hesitation. Most people were offended at the implication that he’s basically a non-magic user, save for a few sparks here and there. But for some reason, Mark’s never felt like he’s without anything. 

“You can’t miss what you don’t have,” he’d said. “My mother sent me here when my home village became too small. I had a grand desire to spread my wings. She has a friend who works as a baker in the castle, and she took me on as an apprentice. It was only when the queen saw me with the gardener that she figured I was apprenticed to the wrong person. Everything took off from there.”

Jack’s blue eyes had stared at him so curiously, so full of awe and wonder that he’d been like a child, especially as he’d stated, “Truthfully, it’s just not a big deal for me. I’m good at other things. I get plants. I get people. I’ll go to the end of the earth to defend everything I care about. That’s my magic. Caring about others.What matters to me is that everyone I love is okay. Not being magic-less. Not being “ungifted.” I just want good things for the good people in my life. Does that make sense?”

Mutely, Jack had nodded with a glassy look in his gaze.

“That’s the day I started to fall in love with you,” Jack had told him later. “When you didn’t care. You couldn’t give less of a shit that I had magic and you didn’t. You just cared so much about other people. And I’d never met anyone so selfless before.”

Their relationship had been a slow progression. Everyone else in the castle saw it before they did. The way that Jack showed him magic, letting his fingers graze along Mark’s skin for a tad longer than necessary. It had been in the way Mark asked Jack about all of the little scars along Jack’s hands and arms. About why Jack had a tower with a clear view of the stars. 

It had been at the annual meeting of kings, all local lords and neighboring kingdoms gathering together, when they finally sealed it, solidified their relationship. It remains the only day of the year that everyone is equals with everyone else, a time of merrymaking and wine and good laughter. 

Neither of them partake in spirits--Jack can’t hold his liquor, and the last time Mark tried, he’d been in the physician’s quarters for a solid three days. But while the musicians played their cheery tunes, Mark and Jack had drifted towards one another, dancing around one another before they moved together, the space between them dwindling as the night rode on. 

Mark remembers every second of that night, wandering back to Jack’s tower with him, kissing him for the first time away from the prying eyes of the court. He remembers each shiver, each promise Jack had whispered onto his lips, every part of his skin, and remembers how strangely Jack smelled of honeysuckle and wildflowers in the dead of winter. 

One kiss had turned to two, then to three and four, and then finally to a number Mark had since forgotten as they spent the night together, learning every curve and inch of each other’s skin.

“I don’t think one night is enough,” Jack had murmured, their breath mingling, the cold of the winter forgotten in their shared heat. “For me to remember everything about you.”

“Who said anything about one night?” Mark had prompted him, brushing his lips along the sensitive skin of his neck, and he had taken quite a delight in the way he’d squirmed at that. “Did you plan for this to be one night?”

“Actually, forever would be ideal,” Jack had laughed, his fingers roaming until they had found Mark’s hair, bunching it in a hard grip before connecting their mouths once again. “But let’s start with tomorrow.”

And tomorrow turned into the next day. And the next day, and the next day, until Mark hadn’t used his own rooms anymore. 

It’s ritual for them at this point to wake up together. Mark wakes up at the very crack of dawn, and Jack used to not get up until midday at least, but somehow their sleep cycles began to synchronize. 

Every morning, as Mark dresses himself, Jack will stare at him with half awake, half-lidded eyes, a smile on his lips. Sometimes, for no particular reason, Jack will pry himself from the sheets, helping him dress just to graze his fingers along his skin.

But always before Mark leaves, Jack will kiss him, and whisper against his lips, “ _Cosain mo shíorghrá._ ” 

It had started out a couple months into their relationship, when Jack had awoken from some treacherous nightmare he’d refused to talk about. He’d pressed kisses to every part of Mark’s skin, clutching to him with a vigorous intensity, as though afraid Mark would fade away if he loosened his hold.

That had been the first night he’d said those words, and he’d repeated them that morning. “ _Cosain mo shíorghrá. Cosain mo shíorghrá._ ”

Jack’s words sounded to be in a different tongue, and Jack’s accent is something Mark’s always noticed. The way he enunciates certain phrases, the drawl he presents on certain syllables. It’s some foreign language, but he can’t quite pin where it’s from. 

“What does that mean?” Mark had asked once, watching the light in Jack’s eyes dance. “What you say to me every morning.”

“It means good morning,” Jack had replied. “In my native tongue.” 

He had taken his word for it.

~~

The spring season rolls back into Astora, and with it, neighboring kingdoms come to meet with King Felix for trade negotiations.

Mark is in the garden, as always, with Chica by his side, carrying a basket full of fruit Mark has harvested from the number of them. He supposes he’ll cut some of the flowers, later, for the Great Hall, and he might sneak one back to Jack, provided no one is watching.

Not that Felix would care, and not that anyone else really cares where the Court Magician spends his nights, and with who, but sometimes it’s better to keep low about this sort of thing. 

Sometimes, Mark likes not being a member of the court. While Jack has to sit in on all the boring droll of politics, Mark is allowed to be outside, tending to his garden and trying to keep up with Chica as she roams throughout the grounds. 

The sun warms the earth today--warmer than it’s been in a while. Chica’s digging a hole underneath the shade of the apple trees, and he’s watering Queen Marzia’s rose bed. 

“Hail! Good afternoon, sir!” a voice calls behind him, and Mark turns. 

It’s definitely nobility--a small group is dressed similarly to that of the court. Leading them is a bear of a man, strong and regal with a warm smile. At his arm is a woman, a splash of green in her light hair. Behind them, another figure stands there, whom Mark presumes to be a man, but his face is covered by a white mask. But he offers a short wave nonetheless.

Then, appearing at the woman’s side, is King Felix. 

Mark bows to them. “Afternoon to you, your majesty.” 

The king gestures to the three people. “Mark, this is the Lord Kenneth and Lady Mary of Merilus. And this is the court advisor of the kingdom, Cry. They’re all very good friends of mine. Everyone, might I introduce you to my esteemed gardener, Mark. Nearly everything that grows here is akin to his gift.” 

“I hardly think I warrant the title of esteemed, your majesty,” Mark laughs softly. “Do what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” 

“I fear that Merilus has a bit of a dry terrain,” Lord Kenneth drawls. “Rarely do we get to see such beauty. Your king here decided to take us on a tour of your grounds. I must say, you must be quite the sorcerer to have created all of this.” 

Chica comes running over to him then, seemingly pleased with her little hole. Dirty and elated, she presses her nose into his leg. Mark kneels down to pet her. 

“To tell you the truth, I’ve got about three drops of magic blood in me, your grace. Somewhere in my mother’s line, there was a magic user, but I’ve gotten none of it, and neither did my mother or her mother before me,” Mark says. Chica barks. He kisses her on the head. “But one thing my mother did have was a passion for life, and all things that could grow.” 

The lord and lady gaze upon him with a sense of admiration.

“His highness is lucky to have someone so humble in his court,” Lady Mary hums. “You’ve done nothing but work hard, it seems.” 

“I do my best,” he mumbles in response. “Thank you, your grace.” 

Mark tries to take it gracefully. Felix is smiling proudly, already knowing this select information, but Cry is just staring at him, seemingly unresponsive to his earlier words. 

Shifting past Felix, Cry approaches him, and Mark rises to meet him. Cry is about his height, but even through the mask, he can’t find his eyes. Cry tilts his head, looking at him, before he asks, “You say you have no magic?” 

“Not a bit,” Mark replies, “at least, none that’s been prevalent in the last twenty seven years.” 

“I see,” he murmurs. Then, “Someone must really love you. Because you reek of a magical protection spell, a power that I haven’t seen or heard in the past century.” 

He walks back to his group, and Felix meets his gaze very briefly before he herds them to another part of the castle grounds. 

~~

Throwing open the tower door, Mark blurts out, “Remind me again what you say to me every morning?” 

It’s evening now, the stars having drifted lazily overhead. This question has been boiling since the afternoon encounter with the nobility, and it’s been incredibly difficult to focus on anything. He’s been trying to logic out Cry’s statement for a good few hours now. 

Jack whirls on him, startled, nearly dropping his book. “Uh. What?” 

Mark comes into the room, closing the door behind him. “You know how like, every morning you wake me up and you say those foreign words to me? What do they mean again?”

He sets down his book gently on the table, striding over to Mark with a grace befitting of the Court Magician. Bridging the distance between them, Jack touches his cheek. 

“I told you,” he says, and Mark swears he’s not meeting his eyes. “It means good morning. That’s why I say it every morning.” 

“But you said it to me once before,” Mark counters. “You woke me up after you had a nightmare. It was the same words.”

A tight smile follows. “What’s the sudden curiosity? My native language is...interesting, I know. But they’re just words. Mark, did something happen?”

There’s an underlying nervousness to his words, ones that Mark doesn’t understand fully. Mark reaches forward to take his hands. “No, no. I’m fine. I, um, I just met with Lord and Lady Morrison. And Advisor Cry. They came to the garden.”

Jack stares absently at their fingers, laced together. “Oh. That’s nice. They’re nice people. I did a couple of tricks for them today. Felix shows me off every so often.”

It’s almost strange, hearing the king’s name spoken so casually, but Jack insists that the king wanted it that way. Not in front of the court, but just between friends, as he puts it. 

“Advisor Cry...he thought I had magic,” Mark goes on, skirting past Jack’s words. “That I was very powerful. Lord and Lady Morrison thought so as well, because the garden is so vibrant. When I told them I didn’t have any bit of it...Cry approached me.”

Jack’s blue eyes shift, skeptical, and his grip on him tightens. But he has a smile as he asks, “What did he want?” 

“He didn’t want anything,” Mark says. “He just told me...that someone had cast a protection spell on me. One so powerful that surpassed any he’d seen in the last century.” 

He needn’t speak more. Mark’s gaze burns into him, and Jack already knows what it is he’s asking. Jack pulls away, combing his fingers through his messy, green locks, before letting out a low swear. “Oh, _fuck_.” 

“Please don’t be angry,” Jack hangs his head, and he’s pacing now. He tends to do that when he’s nervous. “It doesn’t--it doesn’t affect you. It doesn’t do anything to you. It’s like it’s not even there--except if...someone attacks you with malintent.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” is Mark’s response, because that’s honestly the only issue he has with this. He doesn’t give two shits that Jack has used magic on him, but what matters is that he wasn’t honest. “You know I don’t care about magic.”

Really, he thinks Jack might burn a hole into the ground, he’s pacing so hard. “I was scared to...to admit it. But it brought me some peace of mind. All this power, Mark, it...it’s something I sometimes wish I didn’t have. It hurts people.” 

“But you’ve never hurt me,” Mark reminds him, and watching him like this is putting him in pain. He covers the space between them, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m not angry, I just...I was really surprised. And I wanted to know why. That’s all.”

Jack presses his face into the crook of his neck, sucking in a deep breath. “The spell was...accidental at first. I had a nightmare that...that someone...they took you away. They did these unspeakable things, and then...then I wasn’t there to help you. So when I woke up that night, the words tumbled out of me. _Cosain mo shíorghrá. Cosain mo shíorghrá_. And my magic did the rest.” 

He reaches up to hold Mark’s face in his hands, smoothing his fingers along his jaw. “I repeated it every day after, because every time I close my eyes, and I see what they did to you. I see you bloody and broken and begging me to help you. And I can’t--I can’t ever see that again. You mean too much to me. Being with me is dangerous. But I’m too selfish to let go of you. So I protect you every morning. Because the minute someone hurts you...I’ll know. And I’ll be there.”

Something warm fills his chest, and Mark kisses him. Jack shifts his hands from his face to around his neck, allowing him to deepen it, and they stay like that for a few moments.

Then, against his lips, Mark asks, “What do they mean?”

“Protect,” Jack closes his eyes. “Literally, _protect my love_. My eternal love.” 

Mark closes his own eyes. He rests their foreheads together. 

They breathe against one another, and all the while, Mark can’t help but think, _you’re mine, too._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thanks so much!! <3


End file.
